


Sunday Roast

by sirius



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22864300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirius/pseuds/sirius
Summary: Instagram and testing are not a good mix.
Relationships: Alexander Albon & Lando Norris & George Russell, Alexander Albon/Lando Norris/George Russell
Comments: 7
Kudos: 93





	Sunday Roast

It's not that they aren't terrifically serious, dedicated Formula 1 drivers. It's not that they aren't committed, with every fibre of their being, to being World Champion. It's not that they wouldn't go without sleep, chocolate, burgers, oxygen – if it meant driving a Mercedes Benz. 

It's just that testing is fucking _dullsauce_ , and – as one D Ricciardo once eloquently put it – they want to get out of this goddamn hellhole.

Hence the pact, made on the Sunday evening before it starts.

The rules are simple. Each has one roast token. The roast token must be deployed on one of the other two's Instagram posts over the testing period. It is, at that point, a summons. A call to arms. An invitation for a good fuck in the poster's quarters. The genius of it is that they roast each other so often that nobody will think anything of it. It's hiding in plain sight. It's not having to use their private accounts. It's an innocent means to a wicked ends. It won't get anyone in trouble with anyone's PRs.

And, most importantly, it makes testing vaguely exciting.

They shake on it (one dick per hand, in the true Musketeer style; or so Lando says) and then they go about their terrifically serious, dedicated business.

***

Of course, these being (terrifically serious, dedicated) competitors, an additional challenge soon emerges: who is the first to cave, and post a mocking-thirst trap.

Of course, because one of the (terrifically serious, dedicated) competitors is Lando Norris, the additional challenge lasts all of 19 hours.

George posts an artful Nomex picture – Lando's secret kryptonite, the half-overall; arms tied around the waist or hanging loose, it matters none – and Lando replies within the hour. 

_Nice pants._

_Thanks mate,_ George taps out. _Means a lot._

It's on.

***

“I'm just astonished you managed to thirst trap him with your clothes on,” Alex says, squashed into a _very_ cramped drivers' quarters. “He must be gagging for it.”

“Fuck off,” Lando says. He's already on the makeshift bed, arms around his knees. “If I left it to you bellends, we'd all be posting at the same time and it'd be pointless.”

“Ah, I see,” Alex says. “You're just making sure the event runs properly, eh Lando? Lovely.”

“He just loves my pants,” George says. He's tidying their discarded clothes into the corner. “Can't resist the lure of stripy Y's.”

“They're not great, mate,” Alex says. “Very M&S finest. Come on now, G. I know Williams are broke but they can't be that broke.”

“Like yours are so much better,” Lando says, reaching out and pulling Alex in, rough, by the waistband of his own. “What are these, Armani? Who do you think you are?”

“They're my sexy pants,” Alex says. “I wore them specially.”

“Your dick's not big enough to pull them off,” George says, amused. “Love the little fucker as I do.”

“You are both shocking boyfriends. I don't know why I put up with you.”

“It's because Lando has a mouth like a tumble dryer, and I'm the only one who knows how to work your g-spot.”

“You are the G-spot, G,” Lando says. 

“Still,” Alex says. “You're both in serious trouble, you know. Neither of you is irreplaceable.”

“Not sure where you're gonna find abs like this,” George says. “Or an arse like that. Lando, I'm just gonna start sucking you off, OK. The ungrateful bastard can sit over there.”

“Nice,” Lando says. 

“This was a dangerous idea,” Alex says, leaning against the wall, watching with dark eyes as George pulls Lando down the bed by the hips, tugging his sweatpants off as he goes. “Not just because this room is the size of a fucking cat carrier, not just because there's mechanics everywhere, not even just because we have to hope they're all inexplicably wearing their headsets because he-” jerked chin at Lando “-needs a dick in his mouth to keep him quiet – but because the amount he wanks off daily, it's gonna take an hour to get the engine going.”

“The engine is going,” George murmurs, from between Lando's thighs.

“Wait, seriously?”

“I held off today,” Lando says, proudly.

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“Well, I cut down.”

“What were you saying about Lando needing _a dick in his mouth, Alex_?” George mutters.

“Oh! Righto.”

He stands for a few moments longer, savouring. Lando's eyes are closed as they always are at first, until he's become comfortable with being seen aroused, or at least forgotten that he should be feeling embarrassed. His cheeks are starting to flush, and his hands are tracing circles in George's hair. He has quite evidently cut down; there's a neediness there already. George's eyes are tilted upwards, taking him in, darkening midnight blue by the second. His mouth is a sloppy slurp, deliberately lax, not wanting to push it. 

Lando's sighs turn like they have stones in them, and George's eyes slant across to Alex in a distinct side-eye.

“Stop being such a goady fucker,” he says, replacing his mouth with his hand. “And get over here.”

Alex smiles, presses off shoulders-first from the wall, and saunters over. 

“I want to be fucked,” Lando whines. 

George looks up at him, slows his hand, considering. He looks at Alex. Alex takes a moment to consider the noise levels in the garage beyond, chewing the inside of his cheek. “S'probably OK,” he says.

“Is that your dick talking or your brain?” George asks. “Not that there's a difference.”

“I don't care,” Lando says.

“Shut up.”

“Both?” Alex says. “Maybe we can, like, lower the risk by like... you fuck him, and I'll sit on his face?”

Lando makes a funny noise.

“Nice,” George says, amused. “Alright. Lando- did you bring-”

“Bag. Floor.”

“Alright. I'll prep. You suck him off. Gentle. When you think you're ready to be fucked, give him a good suck. Make him do that squeal I like.”

“You have too much power,” Alex says. “We let you have too much power.”

“I vote he has all the power,” Lando says. 

“Carried,” George says, grabbing the lube, as Alex opens his mouth to protest. “Two against one.”

They settle into committee proceedings. Lando rests his feet on the bed and George settles between his thighs, preps with fingers uncrooked, so that Lando can concentrate on warming Alex up, and not on the prostate party. Alex stands tall beside Lando's head, hands on hips, still slightly put out, but softening with each exploratory lick. He loves that Lando takes his time. George isn't much for a tongue-swirl, he gets down to business, but teasing is Lando's gift, and they're both lucky to be able to receive it. George waits for the precise moment, when Alex brings his chin down to his collarbone with a definitive huff of breath, and he crooks his finger inwards. Lando instinctively pounces, both lips hard around the frenulum, and Alex's face turns into a heavy horny scowl.

“Fuck. You. _Both._ ” he hisses. 

“Another day,” George says. “Always fancied a bit of double penetration, actually.”

And with that bombshell, he stands, adjusts, slides on a condom, steels, and then pushes gently forward. Alex carefully extracts himself from Lando's mouth, watching him adjust, that muscle in his cheek going. 

“God, you take it like such a champ,” he breathes. Lando gives him a sarcastic thumbs up, eyes opening and flooded black. 

“Can I-”

“Get on,” Lando says. 

“Just- be careful,” George says. “I really don't want him to die like this.”

“Noted,” Alex says. He scoots onto the bed by Lando's head, and George holds still whilst he does it, every muscle in his jaw tensed. 

“Fucking take your time, Albon,” Lando says. “He's not, you know, right on my fucking prostate or anything here. No pressure.”

“G, get off his prostate,” Alex says, half laughing. 

“Do not fucking get off my-”

“I'm not going anywhere,” George says. “Albon, for God's sake. What are you doing, you lampshade?”

“This is much harder than it looks!”

“Jesus,” Lando says. “Lift up. From the hips. I'll grab your cock and get it in there. This is like, I don't know, assembling furniture. It's not this difficult.”

George has to hold off laughing as he watches them, two to a tiny bed, trying to navigate Alex's wide hips over Lando's narrow shoulders. It takes a not-inconsiderable amount of pulling, and honestly he's not sure whether Alex will have any hips left by the time Lando is done, but they get there- and Lando sighs audibly as he takes Alex into his mouth.

George holds out his hands, offering them to Alex as ballast. Alex shakes his head, a wry smirk on his face, flicking his eyes down to Lando's very unguarded dick. George slides into a side-grin, and nods. They silently mouth a countdown from three, and on one, George slides in and out as Alex takes Lando in a warm, wet palm.

“NFNFNGNGFJGMFF.” Lando says. “FFFFFFFFFKKK.”

“Whoops,” Alex says.

“Deeply sorry, mate,” George echoes. “Can't think how that happened.”

Lando responds by hitting Alex around the arse, bringing George in tighter with his thighs, and snorting irritation through his nostrils. The rhythm, from there, is surprisingly easy. George and Alex move almost like a saw held at both ends, playing a long piece of wood. As George moves into Lando's arse, Alex moves into his mouth. Their pleasure meets in the middle, and Alex ensures that his hand is in time; it cups the head as he's sighing out sparks. Lando begins to moan around him, and he and George hold each other's eyes to time it, communicating wordlessly, two conductors. Lando, as mostly, gets to come first. Alex, as mostly, follows Lando. George, as mostly, holds off the longest. But honestly, there's not much in it. Theirs is a sound of mutual freneticism, hastily finding good sweet spots and pushing them to the very brink. Breathing rattles the walls, fingers seek out skin, and the world feels good and endless.

***

They're respectful of Lando being sore, and the next one doesn't happen for a few days. This time, George initiates. Alex hadn't meant the picture to be erotic, and the roast bears no indication of heat (it doesn't, for instance, focus on underwear).

_That photos doing you no justice you look about 55_

Alex is useless, and doesn't reply, so both of them start texting him.

“You absolute lemon,” George says, in Alex's hotel room. “We should've known an Instagram challenge was too much for you. Jesus.”

“I was busy! I didn't think anyone would respond to a picture of my helmet-”

“Wanky,” Lando says.

“And look, you're here now. Looking beautiful, I might add.” He winks, cheesily.

“God,” George says. “Are you even prepared, Al? Is there even lube here, or do I need to go shopping?”

“There's always lube at Casa Albon,” Alex says. “Wait, that makes me sound like a brothel.”

“It's alright,” George says. “Nobody's listening to you, we're just looking at you half-naked. Carry on.”

Alex continues to undress. “So. How are we doing this, then? I'm assuming Lando's still chafed?”

“Charming,” Lando says. “Why am I always the one getting fucked?”

“Because you're so hot taking it,” Alex says. “Why else?”

“Tightness,” George says.

“Oh, yeah, that too.”

“I want to fuck someone,” Lando says. “I haven't done that in ages.”

“Oh, God, yeah,” George says. “You haven't. Why? It's great. We're all idiots.”

“Mm,” Alex says. “I love watching you fuck G.”

“You can wank off and come on his abs,” Lando says, delighted. 

“Unnnfg.” Alex says. 

“I think he was talking to me,” George says, amused.

“I was, but that's fine. You can both be wankers.”

Alex's hotel room is nicer than theirs, and the bed is much comfier than the makeshift physio bed in George's driver room. They take advantage of it; lying naked across it, lots of kissing, lots of scene-setting. Lando enjoys being pulled around between them by the hips, and so they play on it – getting him to warm them both up, alternatively, with his mouth. 

“You're both such greedy fuckers,” Lando says, as Alex redirects him away from George and onto him. “My mouth feels like a bin right now.”

“Jesus, Lando, you really know how to set the mood,” Alex says. 

“I'm sucking your dick, what else do you need,” Lando says – and does.

George watches his head dip and spin out, so practised, so polished, and has to sit on his hand to stop it from crawling down his groin. Alex catches his eye, the way he's watching and feeling his pleasure in his own body, and leans in for a kiss. It's too much for George, that- he moves Lando back across to his dick, and Lando obliges without complaint. 

They continue kissing throughout. Lando slides down flat onto his belly, as they nuzzle closer. Uses his hand on one, his mouth on the other. Alternating, watching the way the kiss passes between them like an electrical current. The way Alex leads it when his dick is being sucked – the way his hand cups George's neck – and the way it switches when he switches – the way George's palms hold Alex's chin still so that he can suck on his jaw, his neck. 

He's had enough. He leans over, taps George's thigh, and – still kissing – George flips over onto his hands and knees. Lando climbs up behind him, watches him take over where his own mouth was, moans at the thought, and begins to prep. George doesn't respond to prep the way he does. It's very poised. The back of his thighs flex when Lando hits a good spot, and his breath shakes, but there's no hip-bobbing and moaning. Lando isn't sure that, unlike himself, George could come from it alone. Or maybe he's just trying to hold it off. 

Alex's hands are thickly knotted in George's hair, and he's really getting more of a blowjob than he should be, at this stage, so Lando takes hold of him by the ankle and digs his nails in. 

“Fuck- ow!” Alex says. George's eyes dart up, alarmed, until he takes in what's going on and pulls back, letting Lando dictate the pace. 

“Fuck you, Lando,” Alex says. “I was enjoying that.”

“Too much,” Lando says. “You say I'm bad.”

“You are bad.”

“You're both sluts,” George says. “I am the only one with any self-control. _Fuck_ , Lando, can you stop finger-fucking me? I'm ready already.”

“Ah. Sorry!”

“We are both sluts,” Alex says. 

“You are both-”

He doesn't finish the sentence, because Lando has – with superhuman speed – pushed in, and he's probably, he thinks, going to kill the little bastard. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I am also a slut.”

“You look great,” Alex says. He's moved up against the pillows, and is stroking George's face, his collarbone. “Seriously, you both look _so_ good being fucked. It's unfair.”

“Lando, I want it hard, OK? Rough.”

“Can do,” Lando says. He guides George's body up, back against him. “Alex, touch him.”

Alex does. 

George reciprocates.

Lando grits his teeth, thinks about deeply unsexy things, and starts off a firm pace. His hands glance over George's abs, his fingers brushing Alex's as he strokes him off, and he scatters kisses down George's exposed neck, onto his shoulder. George murmurs obscenities, over and over, in a way that he only does when he's being fucked hard like this. Alex mirrors the speed of George's hand, on him, of his on George – and with the other he pulls George in by the neck for a kiss. Lando dips his head down against George's shoulder, half-kissing, half-keening, and he feels George starts to tremble, so using George's hips as leverage, he speeds up. Alex takes joint responsibility for holding George up as he crumbles between them, the kiss shuddering loose then tight with stroking. Their usual order turns upside down; George comes in a messy sound-haze, propped up by Alex, and Lando pushes hard against his back as he comes, loud and relieved to let go. Alex takes over from George's hand as it falters, his eyes on George's heaving collarbone, and he comes high, hard, happy as hell. 

“I,” George says. “Am going to fall over.”

“I can't rule out that I may fall over too,” Lando says.

“Christ,” Alex says. He helps George down first, and then Lando collapses against them both with a mutual oomf. Alex pats both their heads.

***

The third part of the challenge is where it goes wrong.

 _Lando,_ George texts. _Has the absolute tea towel done any roasting?_

_Nope_ , Lando replies. _I even posted me unable to put my t-shirt on. Nada._

_Right_ , George texts. _I'll post my good helmet, and a shit version. Ask everyone to vote. That should do it._

Lando texts him back a thumbs up.

Alex, the absolute tea towel, _votes in the fucking poll_. He doesn't even comment. 

_Why the fuck are we even with this guy?_ George texts. 

Lando sends him a picture of a cartoon gold star with “there was an attempt” written on it. George, not knowing what to make of that, decides on a more direct approach in their group chat.

_Albon_ , he says. _Have you forgotten how to roast?_

_I did! I voted in your poll! Who the fuck thinks that red helmet is better than the blue one?_

_Hundreds of people voted in the fucking poll, you utter chimney. How was I supposed to know it was you?_

_Doesn't it send you the replies? I added an emoji._

_You're useless._

_It was of the clown face! Cos you're a clown innit._

_For fuck's sake._

_I'll make it up to you._

_You fucking better._

***

They meet up again in Alex's room, George with hands on hips, Lando with crisps.

“Look,” Alex says. “I may have misunderstood some basic shit about Instagram, but I'm here now, the dick is here now. No need to panic. Baby's still getting baby's-”

“Don't even finish that sentence,” George says. “Honestly. Where's the making up, then? I was expecting, I don't know. Chocolate. You naked and tied to the ceiling.”

“I'm going to leave if he does that,” Lando says, through Monster Munch.

“I'm not doing that,” Alex says, alarmed.

“The headboard?”

“No. I don't do ropes. What about Lando?”

“Fuck no,” Lando says. “I'm not starting down this road. I'll end up in a gimp mask.”

“Nobody said anything about-”

“I think,” George says. “That we should try that new toy on Alex, whilst he sucks us both off.”

“ _Oh._ ” Lando says. 

“That was for Lando!” Alex exclaims. 

“Yes, but I think that you should give it a test run,” Lando says. “I'm very tight and I'd hate for it to get stuck.”

“It- are you- I'm also very-!”

“It's only fair,” George says. “You've been truly useless.”

“Fine,” Alex says. “But I get to use the remote control. I'm not letting you fuckers near it – I'll end up electrocuted in the arse.”

There follows a few farcical minutes wherein instructions have to be read (George), the toy played with against fingers (Lando), the fingers sucked from being overly intense with the toy settings (Lando), YouTube videos watched (Alex, George) and promises made that the same thing won't happen to Alex's arse as to Lando's fingers (all three). Alex elects George for the role of insertion, on the basis that Lando can't be trusted with such basic tasks.

“Do you want to turn it on before I put it in, or after?” George asks.

“Can I just say how sexy this is?” Lando says. “It's like- sexy Ikea. Like, Alex is on his knees, and you're sitting there with a weird plastic egg on a string, and an instruction booklet, and he's cross, and you're talking about batteries? It's so intense. I'm going to come, like, now.”

“Do you want to sit outside?” Alex says.

“No. I'll be quiet.”

“Don't put it on now. Just- be careful. Put it in but only a bit.”

George complies, stroking his lower back. Slowly, Alex goes down on his elbows, thumbs the remote control, and very gingerly presses the lowest setting. All three of them jump as it emits a sudden sound. 

“Fuck,” Lando giggles. “Al, how is it? Is it electrifying?”

“It's nice,” Alex says. “Kinda weird. But. It needs to go in a bit. Hang on.”

He moves Lando down under his chin, nuzzles his dick with his chin. “George, can you push it a bit?”

George does, using his expert fingers to tentatively find the sweet spot. When he does, Alex veritably melts into it.

“That,” he says. “is the good shit.”

“I want a go,” Lando says.

“Next time,” George says. 

Alex, to placate him, takes him in his mouth. He thumbs up at George, who moves around and lies down beside Lando, ready for his own spoils. Alex moves his hips from side to side in a low sway, testing the sensation, and then swaps Lando for George, swaps mouth for hand. George closes his eyes, takes his arms over his head, sighs. Lando looks between them both, from George's languid sighs to Alex's cock pulsing between his thighs. He grabs it, every so often, rougher than he'd let either of them be – just to add to the sensation, just to keep the sparks going. Lando lifts a hand and directs his mouth back onto him, stroking his hair, beginning to whine. 

Alex, prone, lowers his head down and his back arches cat-like, he murmurs, “fuck,” and George opens his eyes.

“This is really killing you, isn't it?”

“It's fucking maddening,” Alex mutters. “I can't think straight.”

He leans back down, re-takes Lando in, hums around him, judders and stutters in breath and in tongue. Lando watches, fascinated by the difference. George's eyes are locked on Alex, as he struggles to focus on what usually comes so naturally to him. He realises, through Lando's short, sharp cries, that Alex is pleasing him more with sound than with touch, because his touch isn't reliable whereas the noise is constant. Alex, never normally that noisy until the end, is a ragged soundtrack of shaking limbs. George directs him back, giving Lando his hand to stop his protests, and watches as Alex tries to capture him in his mouth, triangular with pleasure, sweat on his forehead. He sucks, limply, whining. George strokes his head.

“I fucking _can't_ -” he stammers, and – barely touching his dick – he comes. 

“Touch him,” he murmurs, through the downfall. “Finish him off.”

Neither Lando nor George knows whom it's directed at, and Lando makes the first move, up on his knees, taking George in his mouth and taking himself in his hand. Alex watches, dazed, as they take over a late-stage rhythm that's barely tidier than his was with something buzzing against his prostate. George senselessly fucks Lando's mouth and Lando senselessly fucks himself, and together they make noises like a floor-buffer, until George lifts his hips clean from the bed and cracks out a single thudding cry. Lando, watching him, shudders helplessly, and whines around his dick. 

They lie, quiet, twitching, for some time. Lando has his head on George's thigh. George pats his elbow, which is about the only part he can reach. Alex lies back-starfish, seeing stars.

“George,” he says, eventually. “We can't let Lando near this thing. It's going to blow his tiny brains out.”

They weakly fist-bump over Lando's snoring head.

***

Thus the roasting contest comes to an end. The winner is declared not-human; the absurdly-named Star-Crossed Lovers Galactic Love Egg.

Unluckily, George and Alex fail in their attempts to keep it away from Lando. They agree that they would have needed an army of boyfriends to do it. Luckily, they get to watch what happens when it passes into his hands – and Alex, of course, is absolutely right. He may know sweet fuck-all about Instagram, but Lando's prostate is a very different matter.


End file.
